


If You Want To Sing Out

by SidSky



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, After tragedy, Andorians, Could get pretty heavy, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Destruction of Vulcan, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, More Chapters to Come, Rebuilding a society, Trauma, Vulcans, in progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidSky/pseuds/SidSky
Summary: The destruction of Vulcan left many orphans. Andorians have trouble having biological children. Zhos believed her request to adopt a pair of Vulcan siblings would be seen as a logical solution to both of these problems. Not everyone agreed. Warnings for genocide, and subsequent discussions of grief and trauma.More chapters to come.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

I do not own Star Trek. I'm just telling this story for fun, and to improve my writing. Please don't sue.

* * *

She couldn't hear them anymore.

Spacefaring vessels were optimized to absorb vibrations. This was done primarily to prevent nanoscopic fractures in the hull, which would inevitably result in a breach; and to a lesser extent, to minimize ambient noise, which could otherwise become distracting for many species.

It was basic engineering. T'Aiza had completed a cursory study of the subject when she was nine.

So as the door to T'Aiza's emergency transport hissed shut, she understood why she could no longer hear the cacophonous roar of fracturing bedrock. Or the level voices coordinating the evacuation on the other side of the bulkhead. Or the...reassuring...voice of her mother. Simple science, nothing more.

Still, it seemed...incongruous.

One moment, T'Aiza's mother had been instructing her brother, Sotil, to ensure T'Aiza stayed by his side...and then the door hissed shut, and all she could hear was a voice over the comms informing the passengers that they were launching.

That was logical. They needed to launch. The next transports could not land if theirs was still on the launchpad, and if the next transports could not land, her parents could not evacuate.

At least, not anymore.

"Why did Mother and Father stay back?" T'Aiza looked up to Sotil for clarification. The grip he had on her arm was becoming slightly uncomfortable; she was certain that her mother's instructions were not supposed to be taken quite so literally. "Why did they allow the Verais twins aboard before them? The coordinators said they were only allowing two more people. They must have heard the announcement."

Sotil said nothing.

Also incongruous. Her brother was often corrected for extensive bouts of speculation; his uncharacteristic silence raised more questions in T'Aiza's ten-year-old mind...

...Perhaps this was a good time to practice her logic exercises?

At approximately five years her senior, Sotil was double her height, and appeared to be using the advantage that height gave him to see over the other passengers; towards what––given the angle of the seemingly non-artificial light illuminating his face––was most likely a window.

Sotil's face looked oddly tight. Almost the way it had the year before, when he had broken his arm while studying the Human sport of tackle football. But he didn't appear injured.

"Sotil? What is it?"

Still...nothing.

T'Aiza suppressed a distracting spike of fear.

What could he see out that window that she could not?

She needed more data. Quickly.

Looking around the cramped transport, T'Aiza quickly came to the conclusion that––if her immediate line of sight was any indication––many other parents had followed the same inclination as her own: T'Aiza estimated that for every adult Vulcan aboard the transport, there were at least three Vulcans her brother's age or younger.

It was confusing.

Where was the logic in their parents waiting for the next transport, when the ground shook like a sehlat shaking itself off after a dust storm, and the earthquakes were bad enough to necessitate a temporary evacuation of their region? Was it not more logical to board evacuees as they came, rather than by age––

The room shook.

Hard.

Sotil fell forward, accidentally dragging T'Aiza down with him.

Her brother released her arm in order to stop his decent; now free to move on her own, T'Aiza shifted out of Sotil's path; managed to dodge being struck by the errant elbow of another falling passenger as she landed.

An alarm blared. Loud. Shrill. The lights shifted red.

Some of the youngest children began to cry.

The shaking subsided, but did not completely cease.

Regaining her bearings, T'Aiza looked around; a quick glance confirmed that very few people had managed to remain on their feet, and those few were now carefully sitting down as a logical safety precaution.

Were they under attack? Who would attack a vessel transporting evacuees from a natural disaster?

...Was it a natural disaster?

Father had said they needed to leave because of the earthquakes. But they had begun so suddenly, and were so prolonged...were they actually earthquakes?

T'Aiza chided herself.

Of course they were earthquakes. They had to be. Father had said so. And what else could cause the ground to shake like...

The ship groaned. Like it was straining to hold itself together.

What was happening?

More data. She needed more data.

Her eyes searched the room for a comm button, or a viewscreen panel, but they were near the opposite end of the structure. Not the safest option, in the event that the shaking worsened again.

In contrast, the window was only a few feet away. Perhaps she could see something...

T'Aiza quickly crawled towards the window, careful not to step on anyone.

"No, T'Aiza, don't!"

She disregarded her brother's belated order; carefully eased herself onto her feet; looked out.

They were not at warp, but the distorted ripples of a warp bubble seemed to enclose their vessel.

...She had not thought that was possible. Her education center had claimed that warp bubbles were only stable if a transport was moving.

And they were clearly not moving. The window opened out the rear of the transport, and she could still clearly see Vulcan just a few hundred thousand kilometers below her. It was not coming closer; nor was it moving away…

She felt her stomach clench; tried to ignore it.

Another incongruity.

Mother had said the transport was meant to take them to the other side of Vulcan, to ride out the earthquakes. Why did their trajectory appear to be sending them into deep space instead?

Had they boarded the wrong transport? Were her parents going to land in ShiKahr, and be unable to find them, because she and her brother had accidentally boarded a transport to Tellar Prime inst...

A crack formed on the surface of Vulcan.

...Illogical.

Her...her anxiety...must be causing faults in her vision. Or it was a refraction of the anomalyous warp bubble. Planets did not form cracks. Not ones visible from space. Not––

Another crack formed.

And another.

And another.

...That was not the warp bubble.

T'Aiza watched, unable to suppress her horror, as the surface of her home spiderwebbed into hundreds, thousands, millions, billions of fractured pieces, all beginning to stir and swirl; crumbling in on itself like a whirlpool of red dust.

It couldn't be real.

Vulcan was imploding.

That...that couldn't be real.

...Mother.

...Father.

They...they had to be alright. Their transport must have made it offworld, or one of the vessels above must have beamed them away, or...

...But that was just emotion talking, wasn't it?

T'Aiza was too old to cry. She had started her training. She was stronger than her emotions.

The tears came anyway.

Helpless, the ten-year-old watched from the window as the only world she'd ever known crumbled in on itself.

An entire civilization––her civilization––reduced to dust.

Someone screamed.

Her throat ached.

Then, after another tremendous shake sent her falling once more, T'Aiza's ship warped away.


	2. Chapter 2

If Zhos' mothers could see her now, their antennae would curl into knots.

But they were back on Andoria, beaming over her sister's son, so they had a healthy distraction from their disappointment.

At least one of her fathers was onboard with her decision. That helped, more than she was willing to admit aloud.

"I see room temperature's set to Starship Standard. Isn't that a bit warm for you?"

Zhos blinked; refocused on the social worker tapping on a PADD in the middle of her kitchen. He'd said his name was Steve Hugs...or something like that. Human names didn't always trip off her tongue as well as she'd like them to. And she was pretty sure she'd misheard his 'surname.'

Luckily, he seemed fine with her calling him Steve. Definitely a time-saver.

"I'm used to it," Zhos shrugged. "Before I took this position, I was an emergency vet working in a Starfleet xenozoology lab. I've spent a lot of time on Federation ships. At this point, it just feels like I'm visiting the hot springs."

Steve blinked. "Hot springs?"

"On Andoria," her antennae twitched. "Complex carbon-based biology requires a certain minimum temperature to evolve. My species evolved around subterranean hot springs under the Andorian ice. Our oldest cities still use springs to warm some of the buildings. You didn't think we slept on slabs of ice, did you?"

"Well, um no," The Human rubbed the notch between his eyes. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm still a bit rusty on my Andorian biology. So you plan to keep the home this temperature consistently?"

"At least the common areas," Zhos clarified. "But each room's individually temperature controlled. I'll keep my bedroom a bit cooler, and the child's room can be whatever temperature makes them most comfortable."

"Cool," Steve nodded. "And can we check out those rooms?"

"Of course," She guided him out of the kitchen; through the living room; towards what she hoped would soon be her child's bedroom.

The house was new, and probably as spotless as it would ever be...though she made sure not to tell Steve that. Most of it was contained on a single floor, with a large central living space dividing the home, and two rooms apiece along the North and South walls.

There was also a finished attic accessible via a small turbolift. It had a pretty comfy window seat.

Maybe that could be the child's meditation room?

Did Vulcans meditate in a special room?

She'd have to doublecheck her notes on that.

But that could wait. Steve was already stepping inside the child's room.

Truth be told, it wasn't anything jaw-dropping.

Zhos had wanted to add a few decorations, but how do you decorate when you know nothing about the person who will be using the space? And adding them and then taking them down as soon as the social worker left would have been dishonest.

But even if she didn't know the child's individual tastes, all the basics were prepared: a twin-sized bed, with a simple deep blue comforter over the rest of the bedding; a simple metal desk and rolling chair; a book shelf; a long mirror; a dresser; and a large closet. All of which her child could use however they wanted.

"There is a bathroom shared between this room and the adjoining one," Zhos informed the Human. "I believe I've gathered all the necessary toiletries, but if I missed something, I will put in a requisition immediately."

"That's...great." There was something nervous in the man's voice. "But starting in the child's bedroom...have you thought of getting a crib?"

"A crib?" Zhos' antennae straightened. "Why would I need a crib?"

Steve's brows pinched. "Vulcan toddlers are pretty mobile. A crib is considered a basic safety––"

"A toddler?" Who said anything about a toddler?! "I think there's been some confusion in my paperwork. I applied to adopt an older child. At least seven or eight years old. Not a toddler."

"Wait, really?" Steve cringed; flicked through the file on his PADD. "Agh...No, you're right. Sorry, my brain's frazzled. This is my sixth visit today...and it's been a long few months."

"I'm guessing that's an understatement," Zhos said as diplomatically as she could. "Well, hopefully after today you'll be able to give a few of those families the green light."

"Oh, I wish it was that quick," The Human huffed. "But in reality, it's still going to be nearly a year of interviews, meet-ups, and check-ins before most of these adoptions are finalized, so I'm just gonna have to learn to pace myself better."

She frowned. "I thought the Federation reduced the wait time for adoptions?"

"For Vulcans looking to adopt Vulcan children, yes," Steve clarified. "But Vulcan society has a _lot_ of cultural milestones in adolescence, and the New Vulcan Council insisted on a provision to ensure that whoever's raising these children long-term will adhere to those traditions. So for non-Vulcan adopters...they've kinda dug their heels in on the minimum transition time. Especially in what the New Vulcan Council guidelines consider...unusual cases."

Well...that was less than ideal.

Two months of paperwork, interviews, education and preparation had led to this visit, and now if everything went perfectly, her child would still not legally be _her_ child for another year.

And that was only if everything went perfectly.

Which, from that last antennae-curling sentence, sounded like a longshot.

"I see." Vulcans weren't the only ones who could keep a lid on their emotions, were they? "Out of curiosity, what about my application makes it 'especially unusual?' I'm not the first Andorian to apply."

"Well, no," the Human shifted uncomfortably. "But I think they're reasoning is...well...the other Andorians I've seen apply to adopt through this program are all married, and either had at least one biological child already, or couldn't have children of their own."

...Oh.

So it was going back to _that_.

"I thought unmarried people were allowed to adopt?" Zhos tried hard to keep the nervous edge out of her voice. Had they changed a requirement?

"Oh, you are!" Steve's hands shot up in a Human form of apology. "All your paperwork's good, and the process is moving along. Hence me being here. It's just...um...Look, I'm not an expert, but I've been told that an Andorian trying to start a family without spouses is exceedingly rare."

"It is." But not impossible. Not by a longshot. Battle widows and widowers used to do it all the time; so could she.

"Which I think––and I'm not saying I agree––but I think that's where the Council's coming from," Steve continued, uncomfortably scrolling down his PADD in search for something. "It's just considered such a big break from tradition, they think it raises a few questions. And I was going to wait a bit, but since the subject's been brought up...well...before I can finish today's interview, my boss said I'm _required_ to ask this question."

...She waited.

He didn't continue.

"...And what question is that?" She braced herself.

He sighed; when he finally spoke, the reluctance in his voice was clear. "'With your species' own declining population, is there a chance you will have to return to Andoria in the near future to...um...provide genetic materials? And would you be raising any subsequent children alongside your Vulcan child?'"

Zhos antennae curled.

What the hell kind of question was that?

...Stay calm. It could be a test to see how she would handle confrontation. She wouldn't lose her chance to be a parent over something so––in the long run––small.

Zhos snorted again. "Your _boss_ doesn't know much about Andorian reproduction, do you?"

The Human's face took on a redder hue.. "Um, well...no. Not really."

"I'll spare you the details," And even more embarrassment. "But please tell _whomever_ is concerned that, as my application indicates, I am a Zhen. And Zhens can never be genetically related to a child, even in a traditional Andorian marriage. That's not my sex's role in the process. So genetic transference has never been, and never will be, my concern. So no, I won't be called back to help the Andorian population effort. It will have no impact on my ability to raise an adopted child."

Something in Steve's posture relaxed. "Okay, thank you. I'll make sure they know that."

"Please do."

"Cool," the Human let out a nervous laugh. "Then I guess we can move on, and check out that bathroom––"

The PADD beeped.

Steve gave her an apologetic smile; checked it...and his face fell faster than a space diver.

"Dammit…" Steve muttered.

"Is everything alright?" Zhos asked.

"Not really, no," The Human looked up; shook his head. "Sorry, this isn't about anything with your application. We just had a home fall through. Pair of siblings. Thought everything was working out perfectly, but they met with the prospective parents this morning, and _apparently_ the eldest got into an argument with the prospective father, and the couple backed out."

"Over an _argument_?" Zhos balked. "They do realize these are _kids_ , right?"

Steve sighed. "They do, but if a match isn't going to work, it's just not going to work. We're prepared for things like this, but it's still disappointing. Hopefully they'll click better with a couple of the other kids."

She tried not to stare. She failed. "They're getting another chance?

"Not everybody's going to be a good match," he shrugged. "It's one of the reasons we have meetings like that in the first place. Better to know it's not going to work before everybody's living under one roof, you know?"

...Fine. That made sense.

Still pissed her off.

"I suppose that's true," Zhos conceded. "Still, if they can't handle one little argument…"

She didn't feel like finishing the sentence was necessary.

"I know it's not ideal, but as a rule, we try to...we _need_ to give them the benefit of the doubt." The look he gave her was resigned. "Do you know how big the orphanage colonies are right now?"

Zhos' antennae drooped.

She did.

That was a large part of why she was standing there, letting a stranger inspect her new home.

'Colonies' wasn't an exaggeration. The Vulcans could claim to be as 'logical' as they wanted, but they'd still crammed their evacuation ships with as many children as they could fit.

In the end, love overrode cold calculations.

And left a staggering number of orphans in its wake.

The Starfleet relief teams were doing everything they could to help establish New Vulcan as a permanent colony, but there was just so much to do…

"And what about the siblings?" Zhos couldn't stop herself from asking. "Will they be matched again soon?"

A pained look flashed across Steve's face. "There's a lot of children who need homes..."

So they couldn't waste their time on ones that were picking fights with potential parents. Didn't matter what the fight was about. Or if the adult in the room might actually be the child.

That's what he wasn't saying.

It was logical.

But it wasn't right.

"How old are they?" Zhos asked.

The Human raised an eyebrow. "They're ten and fifteen. Big brother; little sister. Why?"

...Well, that was definitely the age range she'd been looking at.

There were four potential bedrooms in this place. She absolutely had the space. And most of the supplies already, if she just added a few things to the 'guest room.'

And her work was flexible. That had been part of the reason she'd agreed to take the position in the first place.

"I would like to meet them," she said even as her brain whirred through the logistics of her changing plans. "Maybe we'd be a good fit."

Steve blinked. "You're still a bit early in the process for that, but I can make a note of it, if you're serious. But you need to understand that raising two children is a lot more work than one. And I feel I should warn you that these two...well...they're not exactly model Vulcans––"

"I'm sure that's true." Zhos' antennae bent forward in focus. "And as you made very clear earlier, I'm not a model Andorian. So at the very least, I'd like to give these kids a second chance."


	3. Chapter 3

Perhaps punctuality was not considered paramount on Andoria.

Sotil did not impatiently scan the courtyard to search for the missing party. Doing so would not make the meeting begin any faster.

Instead, he left that search to their pacing social worker; kept his eyes on the PADD resting on the table in front of him, and read an article on dilithium recycling.

Were it to prove viable, it would be a scientifically significant invention, made all the more fascinating by having been invented by a species who had only recently achieved warp capability.

A society with a monarchy. One undergoing major structural upheavals with the species' introduction to the wider universe, but nevertheless largely intact.

Life truly was resilient.

...At least, as a collective noun.

"She's late," his sister muttered from her seat to Sotil's right.

"She is," Sotil confirmed; did not look up from the article. "However, that is also true of the book report you have been neglecting to write since we arrived. Please use this time productively."

"It is not as if the report will matter in a few weeks," T'Aiza countered. "There's always another report, one after the other. And you and the teachers all say they're important, but then after a week analyzing the 'important' text, we move onto the next one. What could be so important about this book if I can learn everything there is to know about it in a week?"

Sotil stilled his annoyance. "There is nothing preventing you from continuing to analyze these texts after your initial studies are complete. However, completing your assignments on time is the only way you will achieve high marks."

"But is it logical to care about one's grades?" T'Aiza raised a defiant eyebrow. "Or is it an emotional display of _pride_ to place pleasing an instructor above actually understanding of the text?"

"There's a decent debate to be had there," their new social worker, Steven Hughes, stopped pacing long enough to interject. "But you know, it makes it kinda hard for your teacher to help you understand the text if you never turn in your work, doesn't it? How can they gauge the time you need to understand the material if they never see what you're thinking?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "They could ask."

Steven chuckled.

Sotil did not.

He understood that the Human was attempting to help, however it was unnecessary. He knew how to communicate with his sister; he did not need a stranger intruding––

"Ugh! There you are!"

But as the moment demonstrated, that was not his choice to make.

Their potential caretaker was not difficult to spot: her exuberant waiving would have been enough to catch Sotil's eye, even if she had been camouflaged into the trees.

Which she was not. By any degree.

The mostly-red vegetation of the courtyard contrasted heavily with her blue skin, silver hair, and loose-fitting white robes. Not exactly the combat-ready attire traditional for Andorians, but it likely helped her manage the New Vulcan heat.

A logical choice.

As the stranger approached, Sotil rose; nudged his sister to do the same. They raised their right hands; gave her the traditional greeting.

To her credit, the Andorian managed to mimic the gesture with only a slight hesitation.

Clearly, she'd been practicing.

"Live long and Prosper," the stranger repeated; slowly lowered her hand; smiled nervously. "It's good to meet you. I'm Zhos Gxoken, and I'm sorry I'm late. I've never been to one of these colonies before; I got turned around, and ended up walking in on some kind of martial-arts class on the other end of the complex."

"I guess that's my fault," Steven cringed. "Sorry about that Zhos, I should've given you better directions."

Yes. He should have.

How many adoptions had this man facilitated? Shouldn't he know how to give clear directions by now?

...Frustration was an emotion that served no purpose.

Their potential "parent" had found her way to them, even without proper guidance. At the very least, she was resourceful. She would need to be, if she were to…

No.

He would not allow himself to set high expectations for this meeting. Most likely, it would end like the last one: a tense discussion, and the loss of their priority placement in the adoption roles. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

...Nevertheless, practicality necessitated an attempt.

Moving out of their barracks-style sleeping area would most likely improve T'Aiza's focus.

It definitely could not become much worse.

Regardless, the stranger had stumbled upon an adequate 'ice breaker,' as the Humans called them.

"The 'martial arts' course you walked in on was Professor T'Ois' Suus Mahna practical," Sotil extrapolated. "She comes twice a week. Under ordinary circumstances, I would be there."

"And I'd be sitting nearby, bored," T'Aiza quipped.

...Why could she not keep her outbursts to herself?

The Andorian's antennae curled inward; she shot a clearly annoyed glance at Steven; then back at Sotil. "I didn't mean to keep you from your training. I was told this was a good time to meet?"

"It is," Sotil confirmed. "I participate in a number of electives; Professor T'Ois' course is one of the few in which missing a session will not make me fall behind by a significant degree."

And as she had given him a list of techniques to practice until the next session, he would likely not fall behind at all.

"And all I have to finish tonight is a book report," T'Aiza huffed. "As illogical as the assignment is."

"A light homework night seemed like the best plan," Steven added.

"...Oh." Zhos' antennae appeared to relax. "Well, alright then. So...um...how do we want to start?"

...No comment on T'Aiza's emotional outbursts.

Already a more promising progression of events from the past meeting. If only slightly.

"Completing our introductions would be the most logical step," Sotil replied. "I am Sotil Mve'nk'il, and this is my sister, T'Azia."

"And I am Zhos Gxoken," The Andorian cringed. "And I already said that, didn't I? You know, why don't we just sit down?"

They did, and quickly went through the other small pleasantries necessary to acquaint themselves: Sotil described the education levels reached by his sister and himself; and Zhos described her work.

The potential caregiver was allegedly an accomplished xenobiologist; she had moved to New Vulcan first and foremost to aide in the Endangered Species Recovery Program, which was in the process of gathering specimens of any surviving Vulcan flora and fauna, in order to ensure their continued survival through breeding programs and widespread cultivation.

There were few such species.

However, Sotil was highly interested to learn that a great many sehlatshad been moved off-world by Vulcan colonists in the decades before the attack, to act as pets and guardians for their children. Those small colonies had also apparently propagated a variety of Vulcan dietary staples.

All of which were now being produced as rapidly as possible across New Vulcan, according to Zhos.

Sotil had adequate evidence to support that assertion. It had been...steadying...when the orphanage's cafeteria served its first fresh bowls of plomeek soup the month before. Even though the soup was still not prepared with quite the right mixture of spices, it was far more palatable than the bland Federation substitutes.

Zhos' work could bring about many more rebirths of Vulcan culture, if she was as good as she claimed.

"Do you ever get to play with the sehlats?" T'Aiza blurted with far too much enthusiasm.

...This was going to devolve rapidly, wasn't it?

The Andorian...grinned. "Well, all the adults we have are on-loan from Vulcan families across the Quadrant, so if we don't play with them, at least a little, they get annoyed with us. Can't have that, can we?"

"Sehlats do have high needs for socialization," Sotil concurred. Still not a single comment on T'Aiza's lack of restraint. "They were domesticated far before Sarek's teachings were implemented, and their exuberant nature has proven impossible to breed out."

"And how would you know that?" T'Aiza challenged.

Right.

She did not know.

He steadied his emotions. "Because Mother and Father were planning to adopt one. They asked for my input, a few weeks before..."

They could extrapolate.

T'Aiza's face went blank.

"My role was to research the best methods of care," Sotil continued. "And to teach those methods to you, once the sehlat arrived."

Which it never did. They'd never made it to the shelter. They never would.

Zhos' antennae drooped. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"You are not the one who destroyed our world," Sotil said evenly. "An apology from you is pointless."

...Hopefully she did not take that as harsh.

"You're right," the Andorian sighed. "I guess I've just picked up a few sayings from the Humans. It is a weird one, if you think about it...no offense, Steve."

"None taken," Steven shrugged without looking up from his PADD. "But FYI: the expression means something more along the lines of 'I acknowledge your grief, and wish you luck in healing,' than an actual apology."

"Then why not just say that?" T'Aiza demanded, likely in a harsher tone than intended.

"Don't ask me," Steven shrugged again, unfazed. "It's a classical expression. Like yolo."

"I believe we are going off topic," Sotil interjected. "Zhos, your work is intriguing, however I have some questions."

"Yeah, sure," Zhos twitched her antennae. "But this isn't an interview for a research position. Don't you want to know anything more, well, personal?"

"I assure you, this will tell me a great deal."

The potential caregiver nodded. "Alright, shoot."

"Your work is commendable in a practical sense," Sotil began. "However, it does raise a few potential logistical issues,for someone who wants to start a family."

"Ah," Zhos' antennae lifted with her eyebrows. "Well, that's actually part of the reason I took this position: my hours are relatively flexible, and the work is long-term. A single species revival project can take decades or more; and we're working with way more than one species."

"And if your specimens were to be moved to a location away from New Vulcan, would you follow them?" Sotil questioned.

Zhos blinked. "I don't see why they would. The species I'm working with should thrive in this environment; taking them somewhere else would be counterproductive."

"True, but that was not what I asked," Sotil allowed himself to lean slightly over the table. "Here's an alternative scenario: if you were offered a more prestigious position shortly after adopting us, one which would take you far away from New Vulcan, would you take it?"

"Sotil," T'Azia tugged at his sleeve; shook her head. She didn't say "Not again," but she didn't need to.

"I'm not interested in prestige," Zhos replied. "I want to do work that matters, and frankly I don't see a xenobiology effort more important than this one coming up any time soon––At least, I sure hope it doesn't...But to answer the question I think you're dancing around: I wouldn't want to uproot you two from the lives you're making here. Not without your input. So if I was your parent, and something did come up––something where I felt compelled to go offworld for a significant period of time––I'd talk to the two of you about it. We'd make a decision as a family as to how to proceed."

...A surprisingly logical answer.

Far more logical than that of the previous applicants.

"I see," Sotil kept his expression neutral. "And you are aware of the many rites of passage that Vulcan adolescents must undertake?"

"A number of them," Zhos' antennae twitched. "I'll admit, I'm relieved you're both above the age for kahs-wan. I'm not sure I could handle-"

"It would not be your choice," Sotil stopped her. "Our culture was nearly obliterated; the ancient katra stones turned to debris, with the rest of our planet. Most of our history now only exists in digital copies, and even those copies are incomplete. Therefore, we must each do our part to keep our traditions alive, or they will be lost forever. Individual...opinions...on the rituals will not nullify their necessity."

The Andorian blinked. "I wasn't suggesting you abandon your traditions."

"Perhaps not, but you were expressing emotional discomfort over the topic," Sotil continued. "And emotion cannot play a role in this aspect of our education. Our culture's survival depends on it. My sister was only just beginning her in-depth logic training when the attack happened, and the administrators of this facility do not have to staff to truly aid her—or myself—in the completion of that training. T'Aiza needs a guiding hand. One well-versed in our traditions. And as accomplished as you are in xenobiology, raising sehlat cubs is a far cry from cultural fluency. Do you truly believe you––a non-Vulcan who has gone through none of the experience which we will need to replicate––can acquire that skill in time for it to actually be of benefit to us? Or are you simply looking for another project?"

Zhos opened her mouth as if to object...then stopped.

Her eyes flicked between Steven––who Sotil had not realized had begun to look exceedingly nervous, T'Aiza––who had thunked her head down on the table at some point during the discussion––and himself.

...Perhaps he had been too harsh.

...Again.

The Human couple whom he had asked that question had walked away. As had their first social worker.

Perhaps there was something in his phrasing which could be improved for the third attempt...if they were given a third attempt.

An expression came over the Andorian's face that could either have been shock, or clarity. Her antennae straightened; curled.

"Look, I'm not saying I'll be perfect," Zhos began. "But I would never treat you or your sister as 'projects.' If you're willing to give me a shot, you'll learn a bit about Andorian culture: first and foremost, the deep value we place on family. On doing what's best for children, based on their skills and personalities; not on what we wish they would be. Now I know I'm not as well-versed in your traditions as I'd like to be, but I'm stubborn as a lava snail, and I'm more than willing to do the research into your traditions that will help you and your sister to thrive. And if I really get stuck, then the Adoption Coalition has a list of Vulcan adults who have agreed to help fill in the gaps. I will contact them if I have to. You and your sister will have the support you need."

...Definitely an improvement. A remarkable one.

This situation was still not ideal, but it was highly unlikely a well-respected Vulcan parent would ever adopt two children who had been rejected by not one, but two different potential homes. The risks involved would be highly illogical, with so many others also in need.

Therefore, if Zhos spoke in earnest––which it seemed she did...then this would have to be enough.

For T'Aiza's sake.

Sotil gave Zhos a slight nod. "In that case, I believe Steven has some paperwork for you to sign."


End file.
